Post by God King Dune on Dec 5, 2015 23:44:32 GMT -5
From the Surface
The scene opens on a shot of an abandoned town in the Mojave Desert. Thin wisps of smoke dissipate as they’re carried upward by a soft breeze, whose whispers are all we hear. Before us is a quarter-mile stretch of road that once served as the main drag of the town. Burned-out buildings line the soft, steaming pavement, and at the end there stands the tallest building in town - a church, of course. But while it may once have been a holy place for the families of those who tested the first nuclear bombs dropped on the Mojave back in the 1950’s, even it couldn’t avoid the flowing fires that rose from the Earth as a result.
Suddenly a black SUV rolls into the frame, and we follow it as it rides toward the decrepit church. A familiar voice rings out before we cut inside.
Hank Brown: You idiot! What are you doing?!
In the truck, WCF lead reporter Hank Brown leans forward in his seat as he shouts at the driver, his cameraman.
Hank Brown: He said go BEHIND the buildings, not BETWEEN them!
Driver: But this is the road…?
Hank Brown: He said the road would burn out the tires!
Driver: Oh, so -
Hank Brown: Get off the damn road!
But it’s too late. As soon as the words escape his mouth, all four tires burst, and the truck sinks as the air rushes out. The driver slams on the brake pedal, sending Hank flying into the windshield. He puts a hand to his head and glares at the driver.
Hank Brown: You’ve got to be kidding me.
Driver: Sorry, Hank…
But the veteran reporter isn’t about to let this little snag get in the way of his story.
Hank Brown: Come on - grab the gear.
He opens the door and hops out. His feet sink into the soft asphalt as he scampers to the relative safety of the hard, barren ground that lines the road. Not long after, the driver follows suit, a camera labeled “WCF” in one hand and a mic boom in the other. He hurries after Hank, who has already begun making his way toward the church. Their feet scrape against the dry earth before they come to a stop in front of a sign ravaged by time, though not by the fires.
“Haven of the Mojave” it reads, and beneath it: “Founded in 1951”
The two stare past it and into the darkness within the run-down church before them. They’re so focused on it that they jump with fright at the sound of a deep voice that calls out from the shadows between two buildings just out of their peripheral view.
Dune: I could swear I told you to stay off the road.
They turn to see him, and each shrinks backward a bit as he makes his way toward them, his half-masked face becoming clearer with each long, slow stride.
Hank Brown: Dune! Oh, thank god it’s you. Yes, yes, that was my - ahem - esteemed colleague.. One of the most dangerous undertakings in my illustrious career, and I’m paired with a first-timer here.
He nods toward his cameraman as Dune comes to a stop a few feet away. The cameraman flinches as Dune’s icy blue eyes flick over at him for a brief moment, but they soon turn back to Hank.
Dune: One of your most dangerous undertakings, huh? I’m assuming you mean the trip to and from the interview, not the interview itself.
Hank Brown: That’s right. You remember what happened last time, I’m sure.
Dune: Yeah - some outlaws nearly got to you. Maybe if they had, they’d have done something like this…
He reaches behind his head and unlatches his mask, removing it from his face to reveal the butchered flesh of his lips, chin and jawline beneath.
Dune: ...though it’s likelier you’d be dead.
Both Hank and the cameraman turn their eyes away from the grisly sight.
Hank Brown: Ah...yes, right. Well, um...shall we get started then?
Dune: Right here?
Hank Brown: Inside perhaps. Is it safe in there?
Dune: Safer than it is out here. Follow me.
The now unmasked Dune leads the two of them up a small flight of stairs before disappearing into the shadows of the church.
We cut to a shot from the preacher’s stand within the church’s dark hall. Dune walks down the aisle toward it, followed by Hank and the cameraman. Hank, usually quite the vocal specimen, doesn’t say a word as they walk; their footsteps are all we hear…
But no - there’s music, soft as it may be.
The soft notes of a piano reverberate up from somewhere far below, and the shot changes as the three men walk past the preacher’s stand and into a room in the back. Scattered sunbeams pierce the shoddy roof, filling the room with a strange glow. There are three things of note in the room, and two of them are wooden chairs. The other is a large rectangular hole in the floor, into which a flight of stairs leads down to the black nothingness below.
Dune notices Hank’s concerned expression upon entering the room and chuckles. He sits down in one of the chairs and motions to the other.
Dune: Have a seat. And don’t be afraid, Hank. There’s nothing down there that can hurt you worse than I can.
But it’s a lie. Something far worse than man - impossible as it may seem - dwells in the darkness below.
Dune’s butchered smile hardly helps to defuse Hank’s growing nervousness...though that was never its intention. All the same, Hank sits down in the chair across from Dune. He makes sure his cameraman is rolling before he clears his throat. The faint notes of the piano continue to sound from far below as the interview begins.
We cut to the view from the WCF camera as Hank speaks.
Hank: In all my years of covering the WCF, perhaps no competitor is as mysterious and intriguing as the man who sits before me. Dune - you were out of action for nearly two months; how are you feeling?
Dune: Regretful that I accepted your self-invitation to conduct this interview. Otherwise, I’m fine. Mysterious and intriguing - now that’s an interesting way of describing me. What is it you’re so curious about, Hank? What is it about me that intrigues you?
Hank: I think I speak for perhaps the entirety of the WCF Faithful when I say -
Dune: Don’t talk to me about the WCF Faithful. I don’t give a goddamn about a single one. Once I fought for them, but those days are over with. I fight for myself now - just like I’ve done for all but ten months of my life.
Hank: I assume you’re referring to the ten months that lasted from your in-ring debut up until WAR, correct?
Dune stares at Hank, who fidgets in his seat before continuing.
Hank: In that time, you rose to the top of the Federation faster than nearly every competitor before you. And now, in your second match back after having lost the belt, you’ll be fighting for the right to call yourself the #1 Contender for Wade Moor’s World Title...though it’s Gemini Battle who stands in your way.
Dune: Fitting isn’t it? Battle and I have a nice bit of history together, though I doubt he'd describe it that way. He remains one of two men in this business who’s proven himself capable of taking me to the limit in a one-on-one bout. While he couldn’t defeat me in our first contest, the fact that he was able to pull off a draw was impressive. In our second meeting, of course, I mopped the floor with him, but that was after I’d been World Champion for months and when I was at the peak of my form. Meanwhile he had only seen battle with wannabes and never-gonna-bes at best, the likes of which abound in the WCF. Can you blame him for underestimating just how difficult it is to defeat me? I didn’t lose a single match for nearly five months as the top man in the business - no matter what revisionist-history claims. Gemini though, like the rest before him, foolishly believed he was going to get the job done.
It’s been two months since I was bested by Joey Flash at WAR, and in that time there have been three World Champs. From June through September, there was only one: me. The World Title has become an absolute joke since poor little Joey Flash stole it from me, but that won’t be the case after One. The path to Wade Moor has been cleared already. Now I need only show up to Slam on Sunday and bury Gemini Battle once and for all before I turn my full attention to the upstart Interim Champion.
Hank: Let’s talk about Wade Moor and #BeachKrew - what are your thoughts on the most dominant stable in the industry today?
Dune: They rose in my absence, and they’ll fall in my presence. Now that I’ve returned, it’s only a matter of time. Look at Pantheon. Sure, they may live on, but they’ve become what Beach Crew is destined to be: obsolete. I’ve already taken out perhaps their strongest man in Jared Holmes. Who’s left to stand in my way, Johnny Rabid? Kyle Kemp? I’d inquire about Oblivion, but if my return match proved one thing it’s that the true Monster in the WCF is me. To the other two, I beg you to try and stop me. Neither of you are capable of holding down the top spot, as I did for nearly five months and through Ultimate Showdown, no less. It’s going to take someone worthy of wearing the strap - worthy of being called the very best - to stop me now. Sadly for the Beach Crew, there’s not a man among them who’s so worthy...and that makes them just about worthless in relation to me.
They may have “control” over the WCF until One, but deep down they know they have no power here - not since I returned. After I run through Gemini this week and Wade Moor at One, there won’t be any question who’s running the show. And I’m not talking about setting up cards and decorating the arena before each show, which is about all the salty fish have done; I’m talking about being the man with the World Title around his waist. The belt may have fallen into Wade Moor’s lap, but in a few weeks it’ll be back where it belongs.
Hank: You’re confident about this #1 Contender's match - maybe even too confident. Gemini’s become one of the top fighters in the WCF, in case you haven’t noticed.
Dune: Don’t get smart with me, Hank. Gemini has shown promise since he debuted shortly after me. I’ve been watching him ever since, as I do every fighter who steps into a WCF ring. He’s a hell of a fighter...but that doesn’t mean he has anything on me. I should hope that, after spending months in the top wrestling promotion the world over, anyone would be a hell of a fighter. But he’s nothing special. In fact, if he disappeared today, he’d likely be forgotten tomorrow.
What’s a United States Title reign when you lose to Mikey eXtreme? It’s almost worse than a Television Title reign spoiled by Grime, but not quite.
What’s a man who’s split in two - a man who’s….
His voice cuts off, and for once he dons a troubled mask upon his face, though it’s flushed out with an expression of anger. He stands up and nods toward the staircase before glaring down at Hank.
Dune: Let’s finish this downstairs.
Just then the faint notes of the piano that travel up from below cease, leaving the room in utter silence before Hank finally speaks.
Hank: No, no uh... that’s fine. We probably ought to stay here, the light and all…
Dune: I'm sorry, Hank.
He shoots forward, and Hank screams and falls from his chair as Dune seizes the camera. His hulking, shadowy form flashes in front of the screen before the camera is slammed to the floor, cutting off the transmission.
From the Depths
Splayed out on the floor is the WCF cameraman who, minutes before, was merely trying to keep the mic boom out of the frame. Now, his camera in pieces and blood streaming down his face, he doesn’t have to worry about such matters.
We move past him and toward the stairs that lead into shadow. It’s what greets us as the first stairs drop beneath the frame. Silence and darkness are all there is for a long moment before the helpless pleading of a man comes to within earshot. It grows louder...louder...until we can finally make out the words.
Hank Brown: ...to do this! He won’t say a word - I’ll make sure of it! We’ll pack up and go home like nothing ever hap -
Dune: Shut up. Don’t be afraid; this doesn’t have to hurt.
Hank: Please, Dune! What are you doing? Where are you taking me...please tell me!
Dune: He's not much further now.
We cut to the inside of a small room lit by a fire that burns in a stone fireplace. Against the adjacent wall is a piano - the same whose notes we heard before. The bench in front of it has been pushed out, though there’s no sign of anyone in the room...that is, until the camera pans over slowly, revealing a man in a grey suit who stands facing the open doorway opposite the flames.
The Jackal wears a sinister grin as Dune and Hank Brown come into view.
In seeing him, Hank lets out a wail, his face stricken with fright. Something about the gentleman standing before him is off-putting, and rightfully so. He’s no man; he’s a beast - a murderer of men, women, and children alike...the young Christian - son of Joseph Malignaggi aka Joey Flash - being his most recent victim.
Hank doesn’t know this. No one does, aside from Dune and the Jackal himself. But his ignorance doesn’t lessen his fear, and he continues to wail as the Jackal steps forward.
Jackal: Tsk tsk...and I was enjoying the silence so much.
Hank: Help me! Somebody please! I want to go home!
Dune’s ruined face is emotionless as he holds Hank’s arms behind his back. The veteran reporter kicks his legs at the Jackal as he approaches, and the Jackal smiles when he catches them both.
Jackal: Look at you now, flapping around like a fish out of water! Now the monsters’ve got you by both ends. Want to go home, you say - is that your one wish?
Hank calms down enough to reply.
Hank Brown: My what?
The Jackal’s eyes blacken and his frame expands as he speaks in an inhumanly deep voice.
Jackal: Your wish?!
Hank can take no more, and he screams as the Jackal pulls him in close.
Jackal: Let me in!
And he’s gone.
Dune releases Hank, who hops up and down a bit toward the center of the room - the Jackal getting acquainted with his new form. He turns to Dune, a mocking grimace on his face.
Jackal: The poor little shit, running around in this body all day. Thanks, by the way - for bringing him down, I mean. You didn’t have to.
Dune: That’s not what you said when he reached out.
Jackal: All I said was I’d use your vessel instead. That doesn’t mean you had to bring me another’s.
Dune: Yes it does.
Jackal: Bah - I won’t argue with you. How’d the interview go?
Dune: We didn’t finish.
Jackal: Ah...well then, by all means, allow me. Where were we? I’ll ask Hank. He’s screaming in here, you know - much like you were when I lobbed Flash’s baby boy from the precipice.
Dune’s expression doesn’t change; he stares at the Jackal-possessed Hank as if he hadn’t conjured up thoughts of his darkest hour during Joseph Malignaggi’s wedding when he was trapped helplessly inside his own body.
Jackal: I can’t get an answer out of him. Where were -
Dune: Gemini Battle.
Jackal: Right. You’ve got a big match on your hands this week. Sometimes I forget you’re a fighter at heart, seeing how you’ve all but given up yours against me.
He smiles before continuing.
Jackal: Convince me he’s yours, Dune. Convince me he’s yours and I’ll let Hank go home. All it takes is a snap of my fingers...but you know that.
His smile fades as Dune remains silent.
Jackal: Go on…
A few more defiant moments of silence end as Dune speaks through his badly scarred lips.
Dune: Gemini Battle’s not even the man I’m set to fight this Sunday. It’s a man called Grayson Pierce who I’ll be stepping in the ring with. I don’t care if his alter ego has more control of his mind than he does; I know who and what I’m up against. It’s a man I’ve proven myself against before, and with relative ease. It’s a man who knows what he’s up against; a man who’ll know what I’m going to do even before I do it...and yet he won’t be able to do a thing to stop me. Is that not when you know you have a man beat? It is….and you damn well know it.
Hanks lips curl into a knowing smile as the Jackal reminisces on the familiar feeling.
Dune: I am to Grayson Pierce as your ancient ass is to me. No matter how hard I try, I can’t defeat you. There’s a way - I remain convinced - but of the method I remain in the dark. That’s where red-tailed and pitchfork-waging Gemini Battle’s going to be this Sunday when I’m laying into his angelically-winged compadre who sits on the opposite shoulder of that vessel the two of them share. And should he rear his maniacal head, I’ll feast on the idea of an actual challenge presenting itself as a worthy sacrifice. It’s widely known that Grayson isn’t the fighter of the two, and if the less-pathetic-in-relation former Pennywise wannabe makes an appearance in the ring on Slam, all the better. It’s no fun beating up on those who don’t stand a chance against you...wouldn’t you agree?
Jackal: It depends on what you mean by “beating up,” I suppose.
Dune: I can’t penetrate minds - not like you, anyway. I strike fear in the heart of every man or woman I square off against in the ring, and the thought of me isn’t quick to fade when it infiltrates any mind, but I’m only human. We’re not alike in that way...but we are alike, you know. The physical trauma I’m set to put Grayson through this Sunday is the kind that gets your blood flowing. If he were an intelligent man he’d lay down after the first bone-crushing slam against the mat, but knowing his sanity is perhaps further from intact than any other wrestler on the roster, he’ll likely go on until he’s lost consciousness or worse. The man fights with a death wish...and can you blame him? He’s broken, and in choosing to step into the ring with me for a third time, it’s occurred to me that Grayson Pierce may just want to end it all. But being the coward that he is, suicide isn’t an option. And, if not himself, who better than the baddest motherfucker on the roster to do the job?
Hank’s eyes go wide as the Jackal looks through them at Dune, the thought of murder-before-millions dancing in his head.
Dune: I’m going to give Grayson Pierce the worst beating of his life. I’m going to crucify him in front of the world before I allow gravity to crush his spine, but I won't stop there. By the time I’m done with him, there’ll be nothing left but a mass of flesh, bones, and bloodied pulp. Those unfortunate souls who’ve been forced to call him their loved one for so long won’t have to worry about scattering his ashes or disposing of his remains because your they'll have already been scattered about the ring and those people who paid good money to witness the horrors up close and personal.
Personal. That’s what it’s become between me and Grayson. He stands in the way of what's mine - Wade Moor and the WCF World Title - and just as during my initial ascent to the top of WCF Mountain, I’m not about to let anyone hold me back...especially not a man who’s been too busy holding himself back since he debuted. Grayson Pierce has been his own worst enemy in all but two weeks since I’ve known him; the two weeks he was unfortunate enough to find his name across from mine on the card. This week marks his third respite, if you want to call it that. And if I have my way, it’ll be his last.
The Jackal smiles through Hank once more, and the veteran reporter’s fingers snap mockingly before he disappears, leaving Dune alone in the fire-lit room.
He sits down and turns his eyes toward the fire. We cut to a close-up shot of one of them, the flames dancing atop his brilliantly blue irises. Zooming in further, the otherwise unseeable texture becomes awe-inspiring, though soon the dark pit that is his pupil encompasses the screen, leaving us in darkness once more.
